


how long should summer last?

by Finally_Home



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Childhood, Innocence, Light Angst, M/M, Nostalgia, Summer, Teen Angst, They're like 13, alfred's a kid, and yes i ship weird things, but it's like the long lost happiness of your innocent childhood, idk how else to describe the feeling other than nostalgia lmao, that's a good one, they're very cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22570099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finally_Home/pseuds/Finally_Home
Summary: Blue eyes, gold hair; a summer of memories, and a lifetime of him.
Relationships: America & Canada (Hetalia), America/Canada (Hetalia), China/Romania
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	how long should summer last?

How long should summer last? He asks himself this, as they sit on the low stone wall by the sea, as the sky shines deep blue above, as the sticky lines of their melting popsicles run down their arms. How long does summer last before it’ll have to leave? How long should it stay?

“Are you even listening to me?”

The voice pulls him out of his stupor, and he hums an affirmation, despite not having listened at all. The other person sighs, shaking his head --  _ his hair shines softly in the mid-afternoon sun, framing his face like pure spun gold _ \-- and says, “Alfred, you were the one who wanted to hear the story.”

“Sorry, Matt.” He wipes his free hand on his shorts and pushes up his glasses. “I guess I’m just tired. Tell me again, about this Katya. What’s she like?”

Matthew sighs, carefully placing his bare popsicle stick down on the wall, and crosses his legs. “She’s Russian, I think, and she’s the president of Book Club, and she has eyes that are blue like the sky, and her hair is the color of wheat fields--”

“You’ve never even seen a wheat field!” Alfred complains, finishing the last of his popsicle too. The red juice gathers at his elbow, and he swipes at the droplets impatiently. For some reason unknown, he no longer wants to listen to Matthew’s lovesick pining --  _ his own eyes are sky blue, why couldn’t he have been talking about him?  _ \-- over some girl who probably doesn’t even know he exists.

“It’s a metaphor!” Matthew’s cheeks flush, either from the heat of the day, embarrassment over his crush, or irritation from his friend’s comment. Alfred only shrugs, trying and failing to suppress a smile. “Do you want to listen or not?”

“Nah.” Alfred leaps off of the wall, landing with a soft oomph on the sand below. “Come on, let’s go do something else.”

Matthew rolls his eyes but follows suit, taking care to retrieve both popsicle sticks. “Like what? I don’t want to go swimming again.”

Alfred’s already halfway down the beach. “Whatever,” he calls over his shoulder. “We’ll figure it out later.”

\---

It wasn’t like he didn’t know, but it still hurt the same. They’d known each other since they were children, three-year-old boys running around the neighborhood together, and it’s always been Alfred leading Matthew, little chubby hands holding onto his wrist as he dragged him into whatever adventures awaited.

It was a miracle Matthew’s parents waited until he was in first grade to move across town, given how banged up he’d get from running around with Alfred. They’d insisted that it wasn’t his fault, that they were moving because Mr. Williams got a better job, not because Alfred was a bad friend, but Alfred knew.

He knew from the way Mrs. Williams looked at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice, from the way Mr. Williams always asked to speak to his father after a particularly bad day, from the way his own parents would ask him to stop bringing other kids with him on his adventures.

But it didn’t change anything, because even after Matthew left, Alfred found other ways to amuse himself, other friends to run around with. It didn’t change anything, because each summer, Matthew came back for a fleeting three months before he had to leave for school again. It didn’t change anything, because Matthew, at the very least, seemed to be the same sweet child who left on that autumn day so many years ago.

When did Alfred realize that he was in love with him? It must have been recent, because what would little kids know about love? He barely knew he was capable of liking anyone romantically until he turned twelve, and then, the truth suddenly became obvious.

It had always been Matthew for him, the waves of his hair falling in front of his eyes, the softness of his voice even when he was angry, the faint lines of disapproval beside his mouth whenever Alfred did something stupid.

When had he realized, and when had he known to be ashamed? Was it when he saw the news, of a Frenchman beaten to death beside the highway and his spouse, a green-eyed man from Britain, breaking down in front of the cameras? Was it when his friend told him, voice full of disgust, that he’d seen two boys from the high school kissing on the soccer field? Or was it when his parents complained, over the hubbub of the TV, that the gays were ruining the rainbow for everyone else, everyone normal?

Whenever and whatever it was, Alfred remembers only the shame, but a year later, nothing has changed. He hasn’t wished away his feelings, hasn’t dropped dead from the ill-wishes of what must be everyone around him, and he’s still deeply, irrevocably in love with his best friend who lives across town. Nothing has changed, and Alfred plans on keeping it that way.

\---

“Hey, old man, we’re back!” he yells, throwing open the heavy glass door with a violent jingle from the wind chime on the handle. “A Coke and Sprite, please, thanks!”

The young man behind the counter puts down his book with a sigh. “When will you stop barging in here like it’s your own house?” he grumbles, but stands to retrieve the sodas from the small fridge in the back. “What happened to the ice cream?”

“It was popsicles, not ice cream. And we finished them.” Alfred hops onto one of the stools in front of the counter, and Matthew does the same, albeit much more carefully. “Thanks for giving them to us for free, Yao.”

Yao rolls his eyes and plonks down two cans. “Yeah, whatever, glad you liked it. Two dollars.” He takes the bills from Alfred’s hand and throws them into the cash register, pausing to retie his hair. “Man, sure wish I was young again.”

Matthew laughs, kicking his feet against the stool. “You’re not that old. Is college making you old beyond your years?”

Yao snorts, fingers deftly working a braid out of his long hair. “Be glad you still have time to mess around. You kids have it good. I’m sick of studying, the only fun I get is managing this stupid store, and I don’t even have any friends to hang out with.”

Alfred’s eyes roam the small general store, its aisles and shelves holding various assortments of snacks and toys, the dirt settled permanently into the cracks on the linoleum floor, the faint smell of incense that seems to come from nowhere, and thinks that he’d love to manage this place.

He brings it up to Yao, who only laughs and ruffles his hair. “Not after all the stuff you have to do to keep it clean and running.” He settles down in his rolling chair and picks up his book again. “Now go away, children, and let me suffer in peace.”

The book reads ‘College Physics: For Dummies,’ and Alfred and Matthew take their leave, letting the door fall shut behind them. Matthew pops the tab on his Sprite, throwing the metal into the trash can outside the store. “He used to be so fun, remember? I sort of miss him.”

“Him? Fun?” Alfred recalls numerous nights of a teenaged Yao chasing after him, yelling at him to get in the bath or the water will turn cold, and then actually giving him a bath in said cold water. “I wouldn’t say he was fun.”

“No, not as a babysitter. As a person.” Matthew slurps at his soda. “He used to tell the coolest stories, and he was a good storyteller too! Better than Antonio or Gilbert, or anyone else who took the time to humor us.”

Alfred hums, downing his can in an instant. “Whatever. What do you want to do now?”

The wind picks up, lifting and stiffening their hair with a hint of the salt from the sea. The pinwheels in the buckets in front of the store flap noisily, spinning into a blur of rainbow, and something deep in Alfred hurts.

He wants to save this moment, just a snapshot, standing in front of Wang’s General Store with the sky as blue as a cornflower and the sea sparkling like a diamond and the beach as white as snow, the heat that’s not too overwhelming and the lone bikes under the sun with the paint peeling off the handlebars and Matthew, in his shorts and t-shirt standing next to him sipping from a can of soda, his eyes shining faintly periwinkle and his hair drooping slightly with sweat.

He wants to save it, this moment, and gaze upon it in the future as a reminder of what life once brought him, but all he can do is shiver with the realization that nothing gold can stay and that life is just a myriad of moments and regrets, and Matthew looks at him with faint alarm and says, “Should we go back?”

_ No, _ Alfred wants to say.  _ No, let me look into your eyes and tell you that I want you to stay, not just for the summer but forever, and let me want you without the shame and please, take the pain away. _

“Yeah.”

\---

Matthew’s family never sold their house when they moved, and Alfred supposes they kept it for the sole purpose of having a vacation home. During the school year, the house sits cold and empty, but during the summer, it buzzes with life and excitement.

Not because of the party the Williams throw each Fourth of July, not because of the entire neighborhood crowding into the little backyard around a little bonfire, not because of the way the glow of the firelight illuminates Matthew’s hair as he sits at its edge, speaking quietly with one of the girls they used to know.

_ It’s either her or that Katya _ , Alfred thinks bitterly, dragging his finger in the dust on the porch swing. He can’t help it; as much as he likes Emma, he can’t help resenting her in this moment for being able to get so close with Matthew, sweetly, innocently.

“What’s up, kid?”

All the blood rushes out of Alfred’s head as he gasps, hoping to god that Yao hadn’t been able to read his thoughts. “N-nothing,” he stammers, heat flushing his face as his heart pounds wildly in his chest. Yao chuckles, handing him a bottle of water, and sits down next to him.

The swing moves slightly. “You have a crush or something?” He twists the cap off his own water bottle and takes a drink. “That blond girl over there?” he asks, pointing at a random girl on the other side of the yard.

“No!” Alfred runs his hands through his hair, trying desperately to calm down. “I don’t like g-- I don’t like her.”

Yao stays silent, but his slanted gaze seems to pierce through his soul. “Good,” he finally says. “She’s dating my cousin, Kiku.”

They sit in silence for a bit, watching the light of the flickering flames dance with the shadows of the night. The gentle movement of the swing almost sends Alfred to sleep, but then, quietly, Yao says, “It’s okay if you don’t like girls.”

Alfred feels his soul rushing out of his body, but Yao goes on. “There’s nothing wrong with liking whoever you like, but you have to accept yourself first.”

His eyes shine amber in the dim light, and Alfred can’t help but ask, “You get it, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Someone in the yard shouts in pain, and Yao stands to check on them. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”

His words echo in Alfred’s head, even as he watches the crowd pull Yao into playing a drinking game, as he watches his face redden with alcohol and heat from the fire, as another body presses next to him on the porch swing.

“What are you thinking about?” 

The night is late, dark, and Alfred is tired. Absently, he combs his fingers through Matthew’s hair as he lies down in Alfred’s lap. “Nothing,” he lies, voice soft, and Matthew hums. “Ow. Don’t pinch me.”

“You’re a liar.” Matthew’s voice is quiet but firm. “Something’s bothering you.”

He almost wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it.  _ My problem is you. What’s bothering me is that I can’t have you, can never even hope that you feel the same about me. It’s that I’m in love with you, Mattie, and I can’t tell you. _

“Nothing’s bothering me.” Alfred lets his head drop back with a sigh. “It’s hard being thirteen.”

There are cobwebs and dead bugs on the ceiling. Matthew lets out a breath but doesn’t push, and Alfred sinks into the cushions, eyelids drooping. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, and the next thing he knows, a hand is shaking him awake.

“Come on, Al, you can’t sleep here,” his dad says. “Let’s get home, buddy.”

Alfred wants to protest --  _ what about Matt, what about the party? _ \-- but he’s too tired to form any words and barely manages to stumble into his room before faceplanting into his bed. The next thing he knows, the sun is shining through his curtains, and he’s still in his clothes from last night.

The shirt smells vaguely of wood smoke, lemonade, and just a hint of vanilla. Alfred holds the shirt close and breathes in the scents. He knows exactly where each came from: wood smoke from the bonfire, lemonade from when he accidentally spilled some on himself, and vanilla from the shampoo Matthew always uses.

Sweet, subtle, and just a little exhilarating. Alfred thinks he might be hooked on it, on the littlest things about his best friend, and he hates himself for it.

\---

Time flies, and suddenly, it’s August, and the wind rushes in Alfred’s ears as he stands up on his bike, screaming in terrified delight as he hurtles headfirst down the hill beside the school. Behind him, he can hear Matthew yelling, but in this moment, it doesn’t matter. In this moment, nothing does except for the wild rhythm of his heartbeat and the impossibly blue sky and the pull in his stomach as gravity works its way into his bones and the thrill, the force of it pushing him into the seat as he rounds the dip in the earth, splashing through the puddle of mud at the bottom.

When he finally stops at the top of the hill and looks back, all that greets him is the cerulean sky and glittering sea in the background. A golden head appears from over the hill, and Matthew throws his bike off to the side and collapses on the road, heaving and panting.

“You absolute fool,” he wheezes, and Alfred drops to his knees, patting his back.

“Are you okay?” Matthew’s always been slightly sickly, and Alfred’s lingering exhilaration drops away to cold worry. “I’m sorry, Mattie, are you okay? Do you need some water?”

Matthew shakes his head and climbs to his feet, using Alfred’s shoulder as leverage. “Don’t do that, Al. I’m scared you’ll hurt yourself one day.”

Alfred laughs, hooking an arm around Matthew’s neck. The scent of vanilla wraps around and intoxicates him, and Alfred inhales deeply, briefly. “I won’t,” he promises quietly, an edge of seriousness tinging his voice. Matthew purses his lips but does not press the subject.

They walk in silence for a bit, pushing their bikes along the worn dirt path. The long grass waves slightly in the refreshing sea breeze, and Matthew pushes his hair back. He needs a haircut, Alfred thinks absently, watching the golden waves fall gracefully against his face. His hair looks so soft. Would it feel as soft as it looks under his fingers, he wonders, as he threads them through the strands?

The ocean sparkles cerulean, and as they approach the beach, Alfred spots Yao and a classmate playing in the shallows. He’s never seen Yao laugh so freely before, hair loose around his shoulders, splashing his friend with water and getting himself wet in the process. They’re both dripping, shining droplets of water hanging from the tips of their hair, breathless from laughter, and Alfred chooses this moment to barge in.

“Yao!”

The older boy’s face lights up with surprise, and he barely manages to keep his balance when Alfred barrels into him. Matthew follows more carefully, glancing at the other teenager, an apology falling from his lips.

“Why are you saying sorry?” Alfred drags him into the water, ignoring the fact that they’re both still wearing their shoes. “I should be apologizing. Sorry,” he says, throwing a grin at Yao.

Yao’s friend laughs and runs a hand through his strawberry-blond hair. “You must be Alfred and Matthew. Yao talks about you two all the time.”

“I do not!” His face is flushed red, and he lightly shoves his friend. “This is Vlad, by the way. We’re going to college together.”

Vlad sticks out his tongue. He’s very pretty, Alfred thinks, in a sharp sort of way. The way he grins, one side of his mouth tilting up more than the other; the unusually-long canines that glint with sunlight when he laughs; the way his eyes curve just a bit more when he looks at Yao.

Alfred giggles; he can’t help it, it’s so obvious. Yao shoots him a warning look, clearly remembering their talk on Matthew’s porch so many nights ago. Matthew looks between them, confused, and finally sighs.

“Sorry, we have to go.” He waves a hasty goodbye to the two older boys, half-dragging Alfred away. “What was that? You just started laughing out of nowhere.”

He shakes his head, dropping his forehead onto Matthew’s shoulder with a laugh. “It’s nothing, let’s go home.”

But even as they head away, Alfred can’t resist glancing over his shoulder. Two boys stand under the clear blue sky, looking out at the infinite ocean. Vlad stretches, draping an arm around Yao’s shoulders, and Alfred grins.

They’ll be fine, he knows. Taking one last look, he turns to follow Matthew down the hill. Will he be okay, he wonders? Will he ever confess his feelings to Matthew, and if he does, will they be alright?

How long should summer last? He asks himself this, as he and Matthew walk side by side, pushing their bikes through the overgrown weeds. He doesn’t know, but he hopes it will stay a long time. Long enough, at least, for Matthew to remain by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> idk what inspired this exactly but it was definitely some anime still; if anyone else ships china/romania p l s tell me i'm begging you those two are my guilty pleasure--
> 
> this was shorter than i'd meant it, but alas; i might definitely take this title/feeling/concept elsewhere so if you see other fics titles 'how long should summer last' for different fandoms but also by me, that'll be the trash in me lol


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